


A Taste For Sweets

by greenofallshades



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Food Porn, Food Sex, Smut, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenofallshades/pseuds/greenofallshades
Summary: In Setauket, the dead have risen and walk the earth.  En route to safety, Captain John Graves Simcoe and Mary Woodhull become separated from their party.  They find shelter for the night and must confront their mutual atttraction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of a Halloween prompt generator which gave you a random trope/kink. Mine was "zombie apocalypse/food sex", and I had been looking for an excuse to write a Simcoe/Mary fic ever since "Judgment" (307). For me, the ride he gave her on his horse, though initially just simple chivalry, triggered his ever-present desire to protect, and I think he began to fixate on her a little. I know I didn't imagine the look in his eyes when he asked her to share dinner with him. So, even though I ship Simcoe primarily with Anna, I've been loving this ship, too. 
> 
> This is my first fic! Hope you enjoy. Oh, and BTW....I know their fall off the horse is total crap, but, oh well...artistic license. :)

Mary Woodhull was tired, sweating, and weary of being on the run. 

The hot midsummer’s night was well into the small hours. It was just the two of them, she and Captain Simcoe, since being accidentally separated from everyone else. Until then, their little party had been making good progress toward Fort Franklin, a heavily fortified safe area for loyalists on Long Island. Mary and Abraham, Judge Woodhull, Thomas, Aberdeen, and several servants were being escorted there by Captain Simcoe and his Rangers. Once safely at their destination, he and his men would be assigned to battle, to try and take back New York from the dead. 

The chaos came with no warning, a horde of the dead presenting themselves out of the darkness. 

Mary was lagging behind the rest of the group a bit, followed only by the captain, who brought up the rear. The horses were thrown into fits of terror, the dead swarmed around and between the animals and the wagon, in which huddled the servants and Thomas, who was on Aberdeen’s lap. The men in the group and the Rangers drew their weapons—firearms, bayonets, and knives—and began to dispatch the dead things, dropping them where they stood, but there were more, and they kept coming.

Pulling her frightened horse back and away from the near-clutch of three of the dead ones, she headed in the direction of her husband, frantic for her son and caught in the grip of mortal terror but functioning on some numb level that forced her to do what was necessary in the moment. Right now, on this dark road, every second could mean the difference between life and death…or a gruesome fate beyond even that. 

She almost reached Abraham, she came very close, and then her horse, driven half out its mind with fear, reared up, and Mary lost her grip and slid out of the saddle onto the ground. It wasn’t a particularly hard impact, and she didn’t seem to be injured, but she was helpless and vulnerable now, and there was nowhere to retreat. She screamed her husband’s name as she got to her feet. Abraham, eyes staring wildly out of his head, urged his horse in her direction. He was nearly there–she stretched her arm up, straining, so that he could pull her to safety. But a number of the dead were shambling closer, closing in, and Abraham froze. 

His conflict was apparent in his eyes—-he knew he should help her, knew he must, but he was too afraid. In a moment, the dead would cut her off from the possibility of his help; Abraham, frantic with indecision, looked from the approaching death to his wife on the ground and back again. She screamed his name again—-and with a sick expression on his face, he shook his head and shouted, “I’m sorry, Mary”, and turned and galloped away. Mary stared after the husband who had abandoned her to death, immobilized in shock. 

The next moment a pair of strong, vise-like hands gripped her and jerked her upward, throwing her into a saddle in front of their owner. She looked up into the face of Captain Simcoe. 

They were cut off completely from the rest of the party now; he wheeled his horse away at top speed as the Rangers continued to fight like madmen. They were holding ground well enough to allow the Judge, Abraham, and the wagon to escape toward Fort Franklin, the latter rattling at top speed and sounding as though the wheels would come off. And yet the horde of walking corpses kept coming, seemingly endless, partly splitting off to follow Simcoe and Mary, preventing them from rejoining the group. 

But there was something, and she clung to it with inexpressible relief. She had seen the blonde head of her little boy, visible in the moonlight…he was still safe in the wagon. He had escaped harm. Thank God for it. 

The captain shouted at his men to follow the party and get them safely to the fort, then rejoin him. As for him and his newly acquired saddle companion, they could try to make it through the crowd of dead things and end up that way themselves, or retreat in the opposite direction. "Are you all right, Mrs.Woodhull? You aren’t injured?“ Simcoe asked. 

Mary shook her head. "I’m fine.” She was numb from the shock of seeing her husband abandon her to a lingering death.. “Abraham left me. He could have helped me but he—” She bit the words off, not wanting to babble in front of the captain, certain that he couldn’t care less about her marital issues. 

“I saw,” he said grimly, and there was a note of ripe contempt in his tone. “But we’ll concern ourselves with other things right now, won’t we? We’ll find shelter for the night and get some rest, and my men will find us tomorrow. Everything will be all right, I’m sure of it.” Eyeing the treeline, he determined to keep well away from it and from whatever dangers might lurk within. 

Mary allowed herself to relax a bit against the strong arms that held her as the horse swept across nighttime fields under the midsummer moon. Whatever one might say about Captain Simcoe, one thing was undeniable—he conveyed an unmistakable sense of authority and competence. Feeling protected in this mad new world was a balm to her, especially at this moment, so she would give herself up to it and worry about tomorrow when, and if, it arrived. 

Simcoe’s optimism turned out to be premature. 

He slowed his horse’s pace to a canter to stave off the animal’s exhaustion, and shortly afterward the animal came down in a bad way as he plunged over a hillock. They both felt the animal fall away beneath them. Simcoe’s hold on Mary did not loosen; as the horse’s body collapsed in one direction, he leaned their combined weight into the other, and they fell clear, with Mary landing on top of the captain. 

She extricated herself and rose from her second fall in one evening—“I’m all right”—pre-empting his question so that he could see to the horse. She watched all around them as the captain vented his frustration and his anger in a string of curses. In the end, of course, it came down to yet another stark choice: leave the horse to suffer, possibly to be set upon and devoured alive by the things which suddenly populated the world, or make a quick end of the animal. And again, the only option was clear. The gunshot rang across the field, and they set off on foot through the warm, humid night. 

Simcoe was seething, she could feel it, and she guessed he was trying to hold himself in check for her sake. He didn’t speak as they moved across the grassy pasture, but he held her arm and was careful to slow the stride of his long legs so that he didn’t outpace her. 

“I am sorry about your horse.” she said to him. 

His face was like stone, but he looked down at her and his expression softened, and his jaw unclenched a bit. 

"He was a good mount,“ he replied simply, nodding. "And it was a stupid accident.” A pause, and then, “Never something one wants to do, and even less so in our current situation. It is paramount that we find a place to shelter for the night, and very soon. Can you walk, Mrs. Woodhull? Or would you prefer that I carry you? I worry that you might make a wrong step on this uneven ground.” 

A ghost of a smile, inconsistent with their circumstances, played around her lips. "No, I can walk just fine, thank you, Captain.“ Besides, if she directed her mind to focus on stepping carefully, she might be able to block out the mental image of Abe’s face just before he turned to flee. 

"You’ll let me know if you change your mind, won’t you. I think we will have to go through these stands of trees here. There’s a house on the other side of them…I’ve passed this way before. Stay close to me and stay as quiet as possible so we don’t attract anything our way.” 

Mary could have sung a song and it wouldn’t have mattered, however. The two of them made their way up a small rise, sweating in the thick July air, and when they were almost through the trees they encountered half a dozen of the ravening dead. 

Simcoe pushed her against a tree and shouted at her to stay there. He kept the attention of the things and drew them away from her, then proceeded to finish off, one by one. Mary watched as his tall, broad-shouldered form maneuvered with a powerful grace, knife in one hand, bayonet in the other, delivering a head thrust here, severing a neck there, always staying out of reach of the outstretched arms and gnashing teeth. 

The last corpse returned to its proper state of lifelessness, the captain turned back to her, breathing heavily from his work—and his eyes went wide with alarm. 

He was at her side in an instant, quick as a panther; he snatched hold of her and wrenched her away from the tree, a bare instant before two of the dead, approaching from behind, would have been upon her. She screamed, seeing the teeth of one of the rotting things snap closed as it just missed the flesh of her arm; she had witnessed a person die at the hands of the corpses, and the prolonged, terrible suffering still haunted her dreams. 

Quickly Simcoe killed the things with two respective blade thrusts to the head, and the danger—for the immediate present—was extinguished. 

He turned back to Mary, who stood shaking and gasping with her face in her hands. He went to her and placed his arm around her waist to steady her. "You’re all right,“ he said, in a voice so gentle and soothing she believed many would have denied him capable of it. "Just a close call, is all that was, but it’s over. You’ve had quite a trying evening, haven’t you.” 

“Did you see how close that was? If you hadn’t turned around when you did, right now I would be–dear God, I would be—” 

“But you’re not. Best not to dwell on it or you’ll never stop trembling. Think about reuniting with your son. I promise I will keep you safe and deliver you there, Mary. Do you believe that?” 

She heard him use her Christian name and she registered a vague surprise, but he seemed unaware of having even done so. His expression as he looked down at her was genuinely earnest, as though accomplishing challenging things was routine for him and he naturally expected to receive her confidence and trust. 

“I…yes, actually I do believe it,” she replied. It was true. She leaned into him as she tried to collect herself and gather her strength. He did not remove his arm from her. 

“Good, then. But we can’t stay out here any longer. Let’s be quick, shall we.” Without asking permission, Simcoe lifted her into his arms and strode quickly through the trees to a small, unlit stone house which beckoned as though it were the grandest refuge in the world. This time, Mary did not object.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

The door to the house stood open. They entered with a cautious Simcoe in the lead, blade in hand, coiled tight as a steel spring, as he scanned the dark room for shadows which might begin to move. The illumination provided by the moonlight which streamed into the two small windows was very limited. 

“Keep behind me and stay close,” he whispered. "We need to assure ourselves the house is clear and I don’t want you left alone in this room until we’re certain.“ 

"How do we know the people who live here are not just asleep?” she whispered back. 

“I doubt that’s the case. It appears they might have left in a hurry.” He gestured to the table they were passing, which was set for a meal that had been interrupted. There were plates partially filled with food, utensils scattered on the floor, and a pitcher that had been overturned, soaking the wooden planks. The scent of spilled wine was strong in the thick air. One chair was pushed back, the other overturned. 

Simcoe was finally satisfied after every room had been checked, after closet doors were opened and the bed was looked under. "Now let’s see about securing this place a bit and we can settle in for the night,“ he said. "After that, perhaps we should see if there’s something left to eat.” The captain began divesting himself of his weapons and shrugging off his coat, but she noticed he kept his knife sheathed on his waist. 

Fatigue was beginning to overtake Mary, but she also felt a kind of euphoria that buoyed her up, an elation at having escaped death. "All right. What do you need me to do?“ 

"Nothing right at the moment.” 

“It’s quite warm in here…I suppose it’s overly optimistic to hope we’ll be able to keep a window open? Even without light?” 

Simcoe smiled at her. “Quite right. Overly optimistic.” 

Earlier tonight Mary had expected it would be quite a while before she laughed again, but she did now. “True for form for me. There was a basin of water in the bedroom…I think I’ll go see if it’s clean. I won’t be long.”

She found her way back to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. It turned out that the water in the basin was unused. There was a tin tub in the corner, and that, too, was half-filled with clear water. Apparently someone had planned on a wash after supper. Mary used the cloth she found beside the basin to rinse the sweat from her face and neck. Good Lord, it was hot. She felt positively sticky. She removed her dress, her underthings, and her stockings, and used the tepid water to give herself a quick wash. 

When she was done, she looked doubtfully at the pile of clothes cast upon the floor. She really did not want to put those sweaty things back on. She would have to do it tomorrow, but not right now. 

Hoping there’d been a lady of the house, Mary began to rifle through a chest of drawers, looking for something to put on. In the front room, she could hear scrapings and knockings as Captain Simcoe pulled furniture in front of doors and closed and locked the shutters. She found a neatly folded clean nightdress, took it out and let it fall open in front of her. It was made of very thin cotton, and it would doubtless be much more comfortable for a night spent in an airless, closed-up house, but it really was a bit sheer. 

She held it before her, considering. 

Did it really matter? She could affect modesty tonight, put the cotton gown away, and put her dirty clothing back on. But they could be killed the moment they stepped outside tomorrow morning and her niceties would have been meaningless. 

It wasn’t as though she owed any loyalty to her husband. A man who would leave his wife to die deserved absolutely nothing. Truthfully, even before tonight, it had been a long time since Abraham had merited anything from her. 

Simcoe, on the other hand, had been nothing but gracious, kind, and protective…and there was the matter of him saving her life. She shrugged. Let him have a few glimpses if it pleased him. 

Mary slipped the nightdress on, let her hair down, and walked barefoot into the front room. 

Simcoe had removed his shirt in the hot room as he finished his preparations. Mary stood for a moment and watched the muscles play across his broad back. Then, becoming aware of her presence, he turned to her, and his mouth opened slightly as his eyes traveled over her. 

“I needed something fresh to put on, and it was all I could find,” she said, a bit sheepishly. 

“Quite all right. I understand. I was rather warm myself. Forgive me, Mrs. Woodhull.” Realizing that he was stammering, he stopped talking and reached for his shirt. 

Mary watched him do up his buttons regretfully; his chest was covered with hair of the same color as the auburn curls on his head; it reached all the way up to nestle in the hollow of his throat. She had always thought him a handsome man, even imposingly so, and she wouldn’t mind if he went shirtless for the rest of the evening. But of course he was a gentleman, and he wouldn’t dream of sitting down to table half dressed. 

“It’s Mary, please,” she said to him. "After everything we’ve been through tonight, I can’t imagine bothering with formalities. I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for you. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am to you, John.“ 

He seemed inordinately pleased by that, and it occurred to Mary that he really did have a sweet smile. "I told you I would keep you safe and I meant it. I wouldn’t want to see any harm come to Thomas’s mother. Shall we have a bit to eat, Mary?” 

She took note of the fact that his eyes made another sweep of her body, more slowly this time. She knew its outline was visible beneath the sheer gown. He quickly turned away, ostensibly to check the solidity of the armoire he had dragged in front of a window, but when he was done, he turned back around and she saw the bulge at the front of his breeches. She bit the side of her mouth to keep from smiling. 

The captain held her seat for her and was in a great hurry to get seated beneath the table himself. While she was changing, he had moved the half-eaten food to a sideboard, out of their way; there was some bread and cheese which had avoided turning to mold in the heat, and a jar of honey. A single small candle flickered between them. More light wouldn’t have been advisable, even with the shutters firmly closed. 

The atmosphere in the room had changed, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. The air between Simcoe and Mary suddenly felt weighted, as though heavy with expectancy. Mary’s heart began to beat a little harder. She was conscious of the fact that the nightdress she wore was cut low in front, exposing much of her breasts to the man who sat across from her. She found she didn’t care. Didn’t care? No, let’s be correct, she thought to herself, you like it. 

As they ate, Simcoe focused on her with that incredible blue gaze and said, “Earlier you remarked that it’s true to form for you to be overly optimistic. What did you mean by that? Or shouldn’t I ask?” 

She shrugged. “No, it’s fine. It’s a habit I’ve developed over the course of my marriage…always expecting the best but very rarely receiving it.” She saw his jaw tighten. “I know you’ve always disliked my husband. I don’t mean for you to take that as an accusation. But I know it to be true.” 

“You deserve better,” he said simply. 

“Well….I suppose I discovered that for once and all tonight, didn’t I?” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it—” 

“John, it’s all right. It doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “Not anymore. Matters between Abraham and I were never going to improve, so…besides, you’re right. I do deserve better.” She shrugged. 

He nodded slowly. "I’m sure your son will be safe until we catch up tomorrow. My men will have seen your party safely to Fort Franklin. I’m sure of it. They were getting clear of the horde as you and I were retreating, and taking into account the population of the area, I seriously doubt they will encounter a second one en route. “ 

"I wouldn’t be able to relax if I didn’t know Thomas is in good hands…with your men and with Abraham. He’s an excellent father, at least.” 

Simcoe looked at her for a moment. "Woodhull is a fool,“ he said contemptuously. His gaze moved over her bosom and rose to meet hers, and she saw him shift in his seat. Her nipples began to harden and it excited her to realize he could see it beneath the thin fabric. There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes. They were on a path, heading toward the same destination, and she could change that or she could allow it to happen. 

When Mary had stripped off her clothes and put on this barely-there nightdress, it had been with a sense of abandonment. Feeling as though she’d been given a second life after her near escape in the woods, she was open to whatever might happen, but if nothing did, that was all right, too. 

Now, sitting here with this extremely attractive, brutally masculine man across from her, she knew she absolutely did want him. To hell with the coward who had married her. She was going to take this man to bed—here, tonight. 

A little heartbeat began to throb between her legs. She wanted to stretch this out and luxuriate in the delicious tension until they were both so aroused they couldn’t bear it anymore. 

Mary picked up the jar of honey and took off the lid. "Mmm. Would you like some?” 

Simcoe grimaced a little. "Rather sweet in all this heat, isn’t it.“ 

"Never,” she smiled. Dipping a finger into the jar, she brought it out, dripping, and began to lick the honey. Their eyes met and locked. He watched her tongue slide around her finger, drawing the honey into her mouth, and she could see the pace of his breathing increase. God, she wanted him. Perhaps drawing this out wasn’t the thing to do, after all. Besides, they had all night. 

“What would you say if I told you I’d like to show you my appreciation for saving my life?” she said, finger still poised at her lips. 

He frowned. “I don’t require anything for that, Mary, and I certainly don’t want you to….do something…under the mistaken impression that that you need to repay me. I am not that kind of man.” 

"I don’t feel I must, not at all. It’s what I want to do. I actually want it very much, right about now.” She leaned over the table and the nightdress slipped off one of her shoulders. Good, she thought, for God’s sake let’s get this started. 

“Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. I happen to have an idea or two. They have very little to do with gratitude, but everything to do with you taking off those breeches. They’ve become rather tight after all, haven’t they?” There, it was out, might as well go with it now. No turning back. 

Simcoe looked as though he couldn’t believe his own good fortune. A smile was breaking over his face, and really, she thought, one didn’t see him smile nearly enough. "You’ve been looking, have you? How very naughty of you. I can hardly be blamed, having been presented with such a beautiful gift to the eyes.“ His smile faded. "You are quite beautiful, you know. Did the farmer make sure you were aware of it? 

"Not very. But I don’t want to talk about him.” 

“You aren’t doing this for revenge against him, are you?” he asked, rather sharply. 

In response,she arose and walked around the table to him. His legs were spread wide, and indeed the front of his breeches was strained to its limit. This time, however, he didn’t try conceal it from her. Without a word, she reached down and grasped the hem of the nightdress, lifted it over her head, and tossed it aside, leaving her standing completely naked in front of him. She was so aroused by now that he could have thrown her against the wall and pushed his cock inside her with no ceremony at all and she would not have objected, but she wanted to give him some pleasure first. 

“I am not doing this because of Abraham. Because of Abraham, I feel free to do it.” 

The captain nodded, satisfied. He couldn’t take his eyes off her body. Mary began to undo his buttons. "Let’s get these off you. The shirt, too. Everything.“ 

He did not need to be told twice. Off came the shirt, boots, stockings. Mary pulled the breeches down off his slim hips, freeing his erection. She knew at first sight that tonight would likely be more satisfying than any of the countless nights spent with Abraham. 

She straddled his thigh so that he could feel how wet she had become. Simcoe took his face in her hands and pulled her in. The kiss was long and deep, and when they finally broke apart, they were both shocked at the intensity of their arousal. They kissed again and it was as though they would devour each other. 

"Wait,” Mary said. 

She reached across the table for the jar of honey, tilted it, and let a thin stream of amber syrup run down over her breasts. "I’m going to give you a taste for sweets, Captain,” she whispered. 

Simcoe’s mouth traveled down from her jaw, to the side of her neck beneath her ear, making her shiver deliciously. He traced his lips downward to her breasts, leaving a hot trail, and he began to lick and suck., his tongue playing with her nipples. The instant his lips touched her skin, she felt an arrow of need pierce her, and she ground herself onto his thigh, rubbing back and forth. 

He kissed her again with a honey-sweetened mouth, his hands twined through her hair. Mary poured a little honey into her palm and used that hand to encircle his rigid cock. "God,“ he moaned, tendons and muscles standing out in his neck. 

She drizzled honey onto his russet-haired chest, down his belly, to the inside of his thighs. He sat back and watched, his eyes half-dazed with desire. Leaning so that her engorged nipples rubbed against him, she let her mouth travel over his body, nuzzling away the honey, biting ever so gently at his nipples so that he gasped, traveling downward past his navel. 

She slipped off his thigh and onto her knees in front of him. Her tongue and her lips moved over the very upper part of his inner thigh, kissing where the skin was most tender. She found her way over to the thick patch of ginger hair that gleamed with droplets of honey, and she tasted them all. 

"Mary”, he groaned. 

“Ssshh. Quiet, now,” she said tenderly. 

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and took his hard shaft into her mouth. Her tongue ran lightly up its underside, tasting the sweet coating of honey, and over the tip; Simcoe’s body arched upward as he stifled the groan that wanted to escape. Mary went to work in earnest until she felt the contraction coming, and he spent himself inside her. 

After he recovered for a moment, he reached down and drew her up into his arms. "You are a wonder,“ he told her, kissing her deeply. "And I think you might have given me a liking for sweets after all.” He smirked at her. 

“Show me then. Before I go mad,” she replied. By way of response, she took his hand and placed it between her legs so that he could feel the wetness and the heat that urgently required his attention. 

Simcoe rose, swept her into his arms for the second time that night, and took her into the bedroom—not forgetting the useful little jar— where they both fell upon a bed which was really too small for the captain’s size but would serve the immediate purpose. Limbs tangled together, they enjoyed the feeling of unclothed hot skin upon skin. Mary gave a little cry when his rigid cock pressed against the part of her that was swollen and dying for him. 

He took hold of her and flipped her onto her belly, and she felt a warm liquid drizzle down onto her spine and her rear end, down the backs of her thighs. Mary buried her face in the pillow and ground her pelvis into the mattress as Simcoe’s mouth burned a trail down her body. She stopped grinding…she was so aroused she would come if she continued, and she wanted it to be his cock, not a feather tick, which sent her over the edge. 

Strong hands turned her effortlessly onto her back, and then he was kneeling between her thighs. He poured amber liquid into his palm. 

“Oh, my God, John,” Mary sighed as he rubbed and stroked and allowed his thumb to slip inside her, then out and over her clit, and back inside. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and opened her up wide; his warm mouth and his tongue found every drop of honey and nearly drove her mad. 

The next thing she knew, his mouth left her, and his long, heavy body stretched out on top of hers, and he was kissing her breasts, her throat. His large hands were twined in her hair. She could feel his hardness against her belly, and she found that she quite liked the weight of him on her, being accustomed as she was to a much smaller bed partner.

“What do you want, Mary?” he murmured. His lips were close to her ear and the two days’ worth of beard growth on his face scratched her skin, making her shudder with pleasure. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she sighed, pressing her belly against his, spreading her thighs wide. 

The use of the word, coming from her sweet, well-bred mouth, and in such a context, made Simcoe draw back and look down into her face, grinning rudely. "How wicked of you. You delight me, Mrs. Woodhull,“ he said, knowing the name would elicit at least some kind of response. And it did. She reached around and pinched the cheek of his behind–hard. 

Simcoe lifted himself and pushed inside her. As he made love to her, Mary, mindful of the need to remain quiet, had to bury her face against his chest to muffle her vocal responses. His strokes were deep and strong, and she felt the delicious tension building. Her breathing quickened, and then contracted into a series of drawn-out gasps as pleasure spread out from her center and down into her thighs. 

As the feeling waned, she wrapped her legs around him and held him to her. She listened to his panting breath, heard it grow ragged and then become a groan, stifled through clenched teeth, as his own release came. 

Simcoe lowered himself to the bed and drew her into his embrace. His skin was sheened with sweat. Still inside her, he wrapped one leg around her. 

"We’re quite the mess,” he said to her. “I must admit, your honey jar notion turned out to be very rewarding, but we’re rather sticky despite our efforts, aren’t we.” 

"Well, as luck would have it, there’s a bathtub filled with clean water in the corner,"Mary replied. "We could wash off there, if we could manage to keep our hands off one another long enough.” 

“I make no promises,” the captain answered. “Besides, we shouldn’t be wasteful, don’t you agree? Let’s make good use of the last bit of the stuff. Pass me the jar, love…yes, thank you. Now roll onto your back and open those thighs…there’s a good girl.”


End file.
